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Slip-Sliding Away

You’ve lost more weight, haven’t you? How’re you doing it?

For Christmas, I bought Fifteen a punching bag. It’s rather enormous, a weighted bag with a water-filled anchor hanging from a seven-foot high punching bag stand. The UPS man had to bring it in two deliveries, kindly trundling in each piece on his hand-truck. I wrapped the boxes in moving blankets, looped bungee cords around them, and left them under the Christmas tree in spite of my usual tradition of not putting out any gifts until Christmas Eve.

The cats promptly turned the boxes into their sofa/look out the window spot, so the joke became that I had gotten him a cat tree. There were other guesses, of course, but I don’t think he actually knew what was in the boxes.

A second-degree black belt, he works out with bags at the TaeKwonDo studio on a regular basis. His delight in his gift was all over his face as he peeled off the moving blankets. His father helped him put the stand together, and by Christmas night he was punching his bag with glee.

In the months since, he has regularly disappeared to the basement to “punch bag.” His workouts include using the hand weights I’ve accumulated over the years and some time on my treadmill. When he’s stuck on homework or some creative endeavor (he’s currently competing in a daily, group poetry contest), off he goes to the basement, and shortly thereafter we hear sounds like giant rodents are scuffling below. Invariably he comes up smiling, sweaty, and with the answers to his writing or homework riddles all sorted out. Recently he said there are two presents that have completely altered his way of life—the laptop computer he received when he was Fourteen, and the punching bag.

I remember it was when I was fifteen that I, too, first learned the pleasures of a regular work out routine. Sure, I had been in disorganized sports, PE, and dance over the years, and I had even done a little running on my own; however, the year I lived with my father in Tucson, Arizona, I swam laps in the swimming pool every day after school. Sixteen times across the pool and back, breast stroke, and I had my mile. Then a dip in the hot tub and I could comfortably walk home, even in January, the mild evening wrapped around me along with my wet towel.

Swimming, running, and then the 80s craze for aerobics kept me active all through high school and college. In grad school I bought an exercise bike and alternated peddle-fests with workout videos, branching into step and Callanetics and adding to my ever-growing Jane Fonda video collection. In addition to feeling strong and lithe and being the best shape and weight I had every enjoyed, I liked physical activity—working out was a pleasure.

I’ve made some goofs along the way, like the enormous weight machine I bought that took up an entire spare bedroom in the house on Long Island. I’ve made countless New Year’s resolutions to get fit or be slim and have broken them quickly. Once I bought a NordicTrack that I loved until I no longer loved it … and I learned to ride an actual bike at 27 and rode vigorously for a while. Then, when I bought my first treadmill in March 2001, it became a fixture in my world and I am a better human being when I walk on it than when I don’t.

That doesn’t mean I’m always in the best shape. So while I’m also a better human and a much better me when I weigh less, eat more, and walk often, I’ve struggled over the years with my weight and my good health. Every time I’ve conquered the battle of the bulge—and cried “never again will I cease working out and eating right”—it’s been by following a sensible, logical plan for exercise and healthy eating, generally adhering strictly to the letter of the plan.

At the beginning of this year I was feeling hopeless. My weight was up well over my “never again” upper limit, my clothes were tight, my treadmill was collecting dust and spider webs, I was suffering from aching hips and sore feet, and I’m quite certain I was eating and drinking in an attempt to ease my broken heart. I had agreed to co-host a winter cleanse through the yoga studio, and while it had sounded like a grand idea, I found I was dreading participating in the fifteen-day eating plan.

I had even told our nutritionist, when we had arranged the presentation of the cleanse to Radiant Om Yoga regulars, that I was a letter-of-the-law girl, that my participation would be to follow her prescription from start to end with no variation from whatever she set down. Closer and closer grew the start date, a safe three weeks after the New Year, and I suddenly couldn’t image doing what she was asking, grocery shopping all over town for specialized ingredients, making my own non-dairy milks, and drinking detox beverages she alluringly called “elixirs” that included ingredients like cranberry concentrate and organic apple cider vinegar. I sent her a note, “I’m overwhelmed.”

I received back the sweetest shore-up email possible bearing the gift of a stream-lined cleanse and an invitation to just keep it simple.

So I did. To my own surprise, I followed the spirit of the cleanse, starting on January 20, and here, 48 days and 14 pounds later, I am still following that spirit. I’ve eaten neither white flour nor white sugar nor potatoes. I’ve excised cheese and many grain-based products and enjoy just a little dairy. I’m back on my treadmill six days a week and I’m feeling fabulous—no joint issues, clothes are fitting better, and people are noticing. Most importantly, I’m noticing—noticing that what works for me is really a blend, a blend of what I know not to do—definite nos—with a healthy dose of embracing the spirit of what I am going to do. And yes, that means that in addition to lots and lots of healthy greens and nuts and seeds, once in a while a martini is a part of the plan.

On Facebook and at home, it’s become a ritual to report my numbers—at post time 14 pounds lost, 33 books sold. I’m proud of my accomplishments thus far and grateful, as ever, to you for coming along on the journey with me. I’ll be away for the new moon in March, but I’m quite certain I’ll have stories to share when I return. Watch for another off-schedule blog post from me soon. Happy full worm moon, a few happily warmer days late. Namaste, Rxo

Leo (left) and Starling (right) under the Christmas tree and in front of the mysterious blanket-wrapped package.

Leo (left) and Starling (right) under the Christmas tree and in front of the mysterious blanket-wrapped package.

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About Robin Bourjaily

I currently perform my own stunts as a mother, writer, editor, yoga instructor, and certified Yoga As Muse facilitator. Overneath It All is a medium for sharing my stories--my commitment is to post on the full and new moons, plus or minus a day or two, and the occasional personal holiday. My novel, Throwing Like a Girl, is now available in e-formats on Smashwords. Please visit https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/516628 to download. Thanks for checking in. xoR

3 responses »

  1. Cara Schumacher

    I love this and love your creativity–in gift giving, writing, living! I feel I’ve been a distracted let-down in the friendship department lately, but am thrilled you’ve re-found yourself! I know all too well it’s the result of an ongoing promise to oneself that we make and must keep, as I’m in the process of this myself (yet again). Sending a big virtual hug to you and yours. (Love that punching bag gift; wonderful!) xoxoxoxo

    Reply
  2. Great story! Thanks for sharing.

    Reply

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